The Invisible Hands - Part 1: Gambit (13 page)
Obyann avoided looking at his friend.
“Sorry, Arranulf,” he said, in an unusually soft voice, “I don’t see that happening any time soon. Anaxantis seems to depend on him a lot.”
Arranulf sighed.
“Don’t I know it.”
“We’ve got to sort out who we’re going to propose as new head pages,” Obyann said, changing the subject, partly in hope to distract his friend.
“Got anyone in mind?”
“Tarnwood was an obvious choice, that is, until Anaxantis decided to knight him. Syrdunn, maybe? He and Tarnwood are friends.”
“Ah, yes, Echron. It was him who got us the map with the route to the battlefield, wasn’t it? That required some quick thinking. And Robrant, maybe?”
“Emling? I don’t know… isn’t he with that group of snobbish bullies Tarnwood mentioned?”
“More or less. One foot in, one foot out, I would guess. Anyway, we need someone with some kind of authority with these guys. If only to avoid unnecessary difficulties.”
Obyann snorted.
“You’re right, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. Well, that’s it then.”
“We need four of them, Obyann. There are too many pages by now.
We already agreed on four.”
“Syrdunn, Echron, Uberon and Eldorn. That’s four, Landemere. I
can count to four. Always could.”
“What? You were serious? You really want us to propose Rahendo and Ryhunzo?”
“Yes, I do. Look, I’m going to be busy, what with marrying Ninda and all that. And who knows what Anaxantis has planned for us? He never tells anybody anything until the last possible moment. We’re clansmen now. And knights. He might literally use us for whatever takes his fancy. Oh, he will make quite a show of asking us, but he will expect the answer to be yes. Sooner or later there will come a time we aren’t here to look after them. I was planning to propose a new article in the pages’ code of conduct, which would put severe punishments on even looking askance at head pages. Instant dishonorable discharge and removal from the corps. None of those smug sneaks will risk being sent home in disgrace to daddy. The mantle of head page will be a perfect protection for the little irresponsible perverts. As head pages, they will be completely useless of course.”
Arranulf had listened with open mouth.
“My, Obyann, you’ve given this a lot of thought. You do care about them.”
“No, Landemere, I don’t. Not in the least. It’s just that a cruel fate has seen fit to entangle our lives, and I’m desperately trying to disentangle them again. It’s my plan to be able to leave them to their unsavory devices without having to worry that their families will blame me for having sent them to an untimely death through neglect. It’s pure self preservation.”
“I see,” Arranulf said, trying not to laugh out loud. “You’re a tough one, Ramaldah.”
“You better believe it, Landemere. By the way, let me explain how I want to divide the pages up, and all will become clear.”
The four of them arrived, with their first load of bags, at their allocated guesthouse in the castle in the late afternoon.
“Nice,” Ryhunzo said appreciatively, while entering. “Goodbye, drafty barrack.”
“This place, downstairs, will be the communal room where we’ll eat,” Arranulf said.
“Mind if I join you?” a cheerful voice, belonging to Eynurm of Tarnwood, asked.
He put down two bags in the hallway.
“Who’s that?” Rahendo asked, taking one step backwards and one sideways, which brought him behind Ryhunzo.
“This is Eynurm. Surely you have seen him in The Hole,” Arranulf answered his question reassuringly.
“I only have eyes for my Pookie,” Rahendo said, doubtingly.
Obyann rolled is eyes.
“Well, Eynurm is going to live with us. He’s just been appointed by the prince as third master of pages.”
Arranulf looked at him questioningly.
“Can I tell the guys what happened?”
After having gotten a nod of permission, he explained what had be— fallen the new knight. Rahendo came from behind Ryhunzo and threw his arm around a mildly surprised Eynurm.
“Oh, Nurmie, that’s terrible. Your father is so mean,” he said.
“Yeah, Nurm, my man,” Ryhunzo added from under a quivering mass of curls, “bad stroke of luck to say the least. Can’t say I care much 11
for your old man. Welcome to our little family. Let us lift your spirits, if nothing else.”
“New house rule,” Obyann grumbled. “Don’t molest the guest.”
“He’s hardly a guest, is he, Obie, if he’s going to be living with us?”
Rahendo said, nevertheless letting go of Eynurm.
“Seems they’re adopting you, you sad puppy,” Arranulf grinned.
“I… I feel all warm and safe already,” Eynurm grinned back.
“You should. Ryhunzo here kills Mukthars.”
“Just the one,” Ryhunzo said, with a gesture that managed to be both self-satisfied and deprecating.
“Was that you?” Eynurm asked, surprised.
“He was enormous,” Rahendo said, painting an indeterminate shape in the air with both his arms held high above his head.
“Meh. He sort of ran upon my sword,” Ryhunzo said, with fake modesty.
“He was vicious and ferocious and brutal and my Pookie slaughtered him stone dead. He’s a hero.”
“I had to. He was threatening to kill you. What would I do without you, Sparkling Guiding Light of my Dim Life’s Path?”
“I told you,” Obyann said to Eynurm. “Completely demented.”
Arranulf smiled.
“Let’s go upstairs and look at our rooms,” he proposed.
Obyann entered the front room upstairs. It bathed in the afternoon light.
“This will do just fine,” he mumbled contentedly.
He dropped both his bags to the floor. They made a satisfying
thud-sound. Ryhunzo and Rahendo came in behind him.
“Oh, look Pookie, how big it is. And look at the nice window. It has a view of the inner courtyard. You can see the entrance to the tower from here. I’ll be able to see you come out when you’re off duty and prepare myself.” He giggled.
“Eh, yeah, but no,” Obyann intervened. “This is my room.”
“Nonsense, Obie,” Rahendo said, laughing. “It’s much too big for one person. Obviously.”
“It is my room,” Obyann repeated stubbornly. “Obviously. My room. The room that is mine.”
At that moment Arranulf and Eynurm came down after having inspected the upper floor.
“You’re sure you don’t mind?” Arranulf asked. “The back room has almost no light.”
“No, no, you take the front room. I’ll only be using it to sleep in anyway. You don’t need light for that. On the contrary.”
“See, he’s just like you, Obie,” Rahendo said. “You also use your room just to sleep in. And to mope, now that I come to think of it. But you don’t need light for that either.”
“Hey, wait a minute—” Obyann began.
“I have no problem with you staying with us, Obe, my man. The bed is a bit small for the three of us, but we’ll make do,” Ryhunzo interrupted him cheerfully. “Just don’t enter when you see a sock hanging over the door handle.”
“What?” Obyann sputtered. “No, no. Listen you obsessive, one— track minded, blinder wearing, near sighted little monsters with tunnel vision, you are not going to swindle me out of my room.”
“Oh, come on, Obyann, it’s only fair,” Arranulf tried to help. “This
room is obviously made for two persons. So is the one upstairs. It’s almost identical. I’ll gladly share it with you.”
“Thank you very much, Landemere,” Obyann growled, “but no thanks. Who sleeps with the dog gets his fleas, as we say in Ramaldah.”
“Hm. Well then, you and Eynurm take the front room upstairs. I’ll take the back room.”
“Oh yes, Obie,” Rahendo piped imploringly, “you two would make such a cute couple. And Nurmie can use some comforting.”
“Thank you, genius,” Arranulf said. “You quite efficiently sunk that ship.”
“Argh,” Obyann cried out. “I almost regret proposing you as head pages.”
“Oh?” Ryhunzo said, surprised.
“Let me explain,” Arranulf intervened. “We — it’s actually Obyann’s idea — were thinking of reorganizing the corps of pages. Instead of having patrols of all ages, we’re going to divide them into two broad groups, the juniors and the seniors. So all patrols will consist of guys of roughly the same age bracket. We’re proposing you as head pages of the juniors, and as such you will also rank above the older boys.”
“By the Gods, our powers will be immense,” Ryhunzo cried out excitedly.
“And we must never abuse them, Pookie,” Rahendo said sternly.
“But I’m afraid it won’t work,” he added.
“Why not, in the name of all that is holy, you obnoxious, recalcit— rant rat?” Obyann sighed desperately.
“Head pages wear black mantles. I can’t wear black.”
“Nonsense. Prince Ehandar wears it all the time and he’s none the
worse for it.”
“You’re only saying that because you haven’t looked at him attentively. Anyway, I’m allergic to black.”
“Now you’re just making stuff up, hoping I’ll die of apoplexy, aren’t you? How can anybody be allergic to a color?”
“He is,” Ryhunzo said earnestly. “If he wears black, he gets all depressed and grumpy. He can’t eat, gets morose and starts pining away.
Do you want to kill him?”
“I’m beginning to entertain the idea,” Obyann said.
“Of course, there’s a way around this,” Rahendo mused, looking pensively at Ryhunzo. “Maroon makes me happy. And fur makes me feel all fuzzy.”
“What? What? No. No, no, no,” Obyann raged. “Ana— I mean His Highness will kill me. Slowly and painfully. We can’t spend money from the pages’ treasury like that.”
They both ignored him.
“Oh, yes, my Lovely Breeze on a Muggy Afternoon, I can picture you already in a maroon mantle with a border of light fur. It will bring out the radiance of those lakes of eyes of yours.”
“Didn’t you hear me?” Obyann shouted. “No new mantles. No maroon ones, nor peach colored nor olive green ones. No. New. Mantles.”
“Actually, Obyann,” Arranulf intervened, “why not let them have their mantles? We could give the black ones to the patrol leaders. Remember how we discussed creating a visible rank and file system? One way or another it is going to cost money. And I doubt ours would fit them anyway.”
“See how this works, Tarnwood?” Obyann complained. “The perverts just gang up on you. They grind you down without pity.”
Eynurm made a helpless gesture, making an effort not to laugh.
“You know,” Ryhunzo said, scratching one finger between his curls, “maroon and silver together would be nice. It’s a classic combination.
Very snazzy. Hm, Obe, my man, you think the budget would stretch to silver clasps on our maroon mantles? Think this is doable?”
“No, I don’t think this is doable,” Obyann exploded. “Making you wear your ass for a hat on the other hand, now that seems perfectly doable. I’ll even add a plume.”
“No need to get offensive, Obe, old boy. I see you’re not enamored by the idea, so I won’t insist. I respect you too much for that.”
Obyann rolled his eyes and let out a despising snort.
“Guys, can we discuss the rest later?” Rahendo asked. “If you don’t mind, my Pookie and I need some privacy. We have to inaugurate our new room.”
“What? What?” Obyann said. “Landemere, translate this gibberish into Standard Palton for me.”
“I think, my friend, that he means they are going to have wild, un— bridled sex on every piece of furniture of this room. And on the floor.”
“Oh, in heaven’s name, by all means, let’s get out of here,” Obyann sighed, demoralized.
“Don’t forget your bags, Obie,” Rahendo said.
“Hey, wait a moment, we hadn’t decided—”
“Ramaldah,” Arranulf smiled, “do you really want to sleep in a room where every square inch of every surface has come into contact with their naked, sweaty skin and where bodily fluids of all sorts—”
“Shut up, Landemere, and let’s get out,” Obyann said, picking up his bags. “I don’t want to hear it, let alone visualize it.”
Arranulf closed the door behind them, after a last wink at the
young pages.
“Very clever of you, Pookie, asking him for something gaudy and expensive we didn’t want in the first place.”
“I thought I’d let him refuse us something, Incomparable Irides— cence of my Otherwise Lackluster Days. It gives him the idea he is an integral part of the decision making process.”
Anaxantis stood in the stone bathtub, shivering while washing himself. He heard the door to their apartment opening, and shortly thereafter a metallic, clunky sound. A minute later Ehandar entered the bathroom, holding his hands before him and dipping them into the water on the bottom of the bath.
“What’s that on your hands?” Anaxantis asked.
“Rust,” his brother replied. “More importantly, what are you doing? Washing yourself with cold water when I filled the kettle over the fire this morning?”
“Oh, Ehandar, really, I’m not made of porcelain, you know.”
“You’re not made of steel either. Come.”
He grabbed his naked brother unawares, lifted him in his arms and carried him to the big hearth, where he set him down again.
“Wait here. I’ll fetch a towel.”
“By the Gods, Ehandar, that thing is rough,” Anaxantis protested while he was being rubbed down.